Amateuib, wit^. 



nree colored Illustrations. Price 50 cents. 



■ --> • 



No. CCCCIII. 

FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. 

feting (gbition. 



THE 



MARINER'S RETURN. 



% flvcima, in Cljrte %d^. 



H.E]Sr]RY H. F^UTISTAM. 



TOGETHER ^XlTH OAST OP CHARACTERS AND FULL DIRECTIONS FOR 
ACTING AND PRESENTING THE PLAY. 



Copyright 1888, by Samuel Frexch & Son. 



-•-•-^- 



New York: 

^ :MUEL FRENCH & SON, 
publisheup, 
28 West 23 d Street. 



London : 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

PUBLISnER, 

89 STRAND. 



:m:a.t?.'r«tt:e=» ibo:^^ 

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THE ABOVE ARTICLES TO BE HAD SEPARATELY. FOR PRICES, SEE CATALOGUC 



FEENOH^S (lATB LACTT's) DESCRIPTIVH LIST. 



SCENERY. 




With a view to •brlate the gnnat difficulty experienced by Amatenrs (par- 
ticularly in country houses) in obtaining Scenery, &c., to fix in a Drawing Room, 
and then only by considerable outlay for hire and great damage caused to walla, 
we have decided to keep a series of Scenes, &c., coloured on strong paper, which 
M-n be joined together or pasted on canvas or wood, according to requiremen*. \ 
Full directions, with diagrams shewing exact size of Back Scenes, Borders, and 
Wings, can be had free on application. The following four Boenes each oonsista 
of thirty sheets of paper. 

GARDEN. 

The above is an illustration of this scene. It is kept in two sizes. The small 
sire weuld extend to 15 feet wide and 8 feet high, and the large size to 20 feet 
long and llj feet high. It is not necessary to have the scene ^e height of the 
room, as blue paper to represent sky is usually hung at th«? top. Small size, with 
Wings and Border complete, $7.50 ; large size, do., $IO.0ft 



WOOD. 

This is similar in stylo to the above, only a wood scene is introduced in t*"" 
centre. It is kept in two sizes, as the previous scene, and blue paper can o. 
introdrced as before indicated. Small siz^ with Wings and Borders com- 
plete, $7.50 ; large size, do., $10.00. 

S^OXjliC.iSuOf'^*. — "Liiis is a sheet of paper on which foliage is 
drawn, which can be repeated and cut in any shape required. Small size, 30 in. 
by 20 in., 25 cts. per sheet ; lar^e size, 40 in. by 30 in., 35 cts. per sheet. 

drawing" room. 

This scene is only kept in the large size, to extend to 20 feet long and 11^ feet 
high. In the centre is a French windew, leading down to the ground, which 
could be made practicable if required. On the iJeft wing ifs a fire-place with 
mirror above, and on tbe right wing is an oil painting. The whole scene is 
tastefully ornamented and beautifully colonred, forming a most elegant picture. 
Should a box scene be required extra wings can be had, consisting of doors each 
side, which could be made practicable. Pricei with Border and one set of 
Win::s, $10.; with Border and two seta of Wings, to form box sc^e, $12.50. 

COTTAGE TnTERIOR. 

This is also kept in the large size only. In the centre is a door leading 
outside. On the left centre is a rustic fireplace, and the ri.jrht centre is a window. 
On the wings are painted shelves, &c., to complete the sceno. A box scene can be 
made by purchasinsr eztra wings, as before described, and forming doors on eaoh 
Bide. Price, with Border and one set of Wings, $10.00 ; with Border and two 
sets of Wings, to form bos scene, $12.50. 

The Drawing Eoom monnted. can be seen at 2'6 West 23d Sc. ., 
'^' New York. Full directions accomr?ai:i^ f.acli Scene. ' 



t No. CCCCIII. 

French's Standard Drama. 

THE ACTING EDITION. 



THE MARINER'S RETURN 



H Drama in Ubree Hcts 



BY 



HEJ^TRY H. PUTNAM 

// 



TOGETHER WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS AND FULL DIRECTION'S 
FOR ACTING AND PRESENTING THE PLAY 



COPYRIGHT, 1888, by SAMUEL FrEN( 



NEW YORK 

SAMUEL FRENCH & SON 

publishers 

28 West 23d Street 




SAMUEL FRENCH 

publisher 
89 Strand 



T5i>^ 



r 



^\ 



-f^2 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



Capt. Lawbence, aged 60, - 
Howard Lee, aged 22, 

Ned Barron, aged 22, - - 
josiah dobbs, aged 70, 
Erastus Hardhead, aged 25, 

Annie, ageb 21, - . _ _ 

Mary, aged 20, - - - - 

Tilly, aged 20, - - - > 



Inn Keeper 

A Sailor 

His Friend 

An Ancient Mariner 

A Ship's Cook 

Daughter of Capt. Lawrence 

Daughter of Josiah Dobbs 

A Maid 



COSTUMES MODEBJSf 



/^-vf;^ 



THE MARINER'S RETURN. 



ACT I. 

SCENE. — Interior of the Village Inn. Plain furniture. Table, 
L. c. Chairs around room. Centre door and windows, B. 
a7id li. in flat. Door, r. 2 e. JDooi-, l. 2 e. Captain 
Lawrence discovered seated in chair by table. 

Captain. "Well, well, I 'spose I should be liappy on such a 
day as this. Yet 'tain't over-natural for a father to feel kinder 
sad on his daughter's wedding day, though she be goin' to 
marry the smartest lad that ever trod a ship's deck. Ever 
since my little wife died, fifteen long years ago, Annie has 
been the sole comforter to lighten my sorrow. God bless her 
gentle heart ! And now, just as old age begins to creep upon 
me, I must lose her. She says she will be the same kind 
daughter, but in her love for that young sailor, Howard Lee, I 
am afraid she'll lose some of the old affection for her father. 
But I mustn't let my sorrowing stand in the way of their happi- 
ness. To-day she leaves the shelter of this roof, and I must 
be as gay and happy as the rest. "Well, they shall have the 
handsomest dinner that the larder of my inn can furnish. 
[Enter Tilly, l. 2 e.] Hello, Tilly, how fine ye look to-day. 
Where'd ye get all them fine fixings ? 

Tilly. Yes, massa, I is kinder fixed up fer de missus' wed- 
ding. Where'd I git um ? De missus gib em ter me ter fix up 
ter wait on de folks at de dinner. Ain't da gay ? 

Capt. Yes, they be. An' I shall be proud to have you at my 
table. How are ye getting along ? Did ye fix things as I said ? 

Tilly. Yes, massa. I'se put on de old china, wid de paintin' 
on em, an' de big soup-bowl, wid de silver ladle, an' missus is 
a putting some flowers on from de garden. 

Capt. That's right. Has the parson come yet ? 

Tilly. No, sah, Massa Lee hab gone down fer him. 

Capt. Well, I guess I'll go an' draw the ale, an' fix up for the 
ceremony. [Exit, right. 



4 THE MAKINER's KETUEN. 

TilijT. Oh my, ain't (lis jes' lubly ! Golly ! I nebber 'spected 
ter hab so many fine fixings before. Dis neckerchief jes' be- 
comes my complection. Ain't I handsome? An' dis dress! 
It's jes' de mos' perfeclist dress I ebber saw. Doan' I wish 
'Eastus could see me now ? I could jes' steal his heart away 
quickern a wink. But 'Rastus am nutfen but the ship's cook, 
an' I'se too good-lookin' fer him, I is. Golly ! I'se jes' de 
swellest lookin' yeller gal I'se seen fer a long time. I do hope 
'Eastus will cum heah ter day. I jes' wants ter show him 
what a supereated lady I is. Oh ! I'se so awfully happy. 
[Sings.) {Any song may be introduced.) 

{Enter Mart and Annie, left.'] 

Annie. Why, Tilly, you seem bubbling over with mirth to- 
day. Do you share in my happiness ? 

Tilly. Yes, missus ; I wishes yer much joy, an denn I — I • 

Mary. Ah, Tilly, has 'Eastus at last spoken the words ? 

Tilly. 'Eastus ! Doan' speak of him. He am nuffin but a 
ship's cook. He ain't swell enough fer me. 

Mary. Oh, Tilly ; Erastus is a good fellow. I think he is 
coming up here to-day. 

Tilly. 'Eastus coming up ! Yer doan' say so. Oh, I'se so 
gla — dat is, I hope he won't kum neah dis inn. I jes' won't 
stay heah, if he does. 

Annie. Well, Tilly, we will see that 'Eastus keeps his dis- 
tance. Will you go and open the front door to receive the 
rector ? 

Tilly. Yes'm, imejiantly. [Exit, left. 

Annie. I shall soon be a happy wife, Mary. That thought is 
a pleasant one ; yet, in being a wife, I must leave this, my 
childhood home — the home of the gayest and saddest scenes 
of my life. 

Mary. True, Annie ; but the new home under your hands will 
soon be as dear a one as this. The little cottage which How- 
ard has furnished is perfectly lovely. 

Annie. Indeed it is, and I love it for Howard's sake. But, 
Mary, I feel that you have a secret to tell ; come, I invite your 
confidence. 

Mary. I, a secret ! Why, what put that into your head ? 

Annie. Some sure signs. At times you are sad, and mo- 
mentary exclamations, as though you were about to confide, 
escape from your lips. Why is it ? 

Mary. It is because you have guessed the truth ; for I have 
a secret to tell you. I have not dared to speak about it, but 
you have opened the door to my heart. 

Annie. Thank you. Sit down here, and speak freely. [Both 
sit. ) 

Mary. When I look upon your approaching marriage, the 
thought comes to me that, were I beloved where I love, I, too, 



THE MABINER S BETURN. 5 

might be as happy as you. But mine is a love that is not re- 
turned. 

Annie. Oh, how can it be ? 

Mary. It is so. The man who could make my life a bless- 
ing thinks no more of me than as a friend. Oh, Annie, you 
cannot undei'stand the pain and suffering of an unrequited 
love. 

Annie. Why did you never speak of this before ? "Who can 
console better than a friend ? My heart weeps in unison with 
yours, though, as you say, I cannot fully realize your sorrow. 
However, I do know the sorrow of being the object of a hope- 
less love, for there is one who loves me hopelessly. But tell 
me his name, and perhaps we can find a way to win his love. 

Mary. It is one whom you well know. It is the friend of 
your future husband — Ned Barron. 

Annie. Ned Barron ! Oh, unhappy circumstance ! He is the 
one I spoke of, who confessed a love for me that I could not 
return. 

Mary. Then mine is indeed a hopeless love. If he loves you, 
how can I ever hope to change that love ? 

Annie. Wait, there is a chance. Perhaps disappointment in 
his love for me may lead him to turn to you as a more worthy 
object. 

Mary. More worthy ! No, it can never be so. 

Annie. Come, Mary, don't be downcast ; cheer up, and let 
him see you gay. Trust in God, and all will be well. 

Mary. I will try to be happy to-day for your sake. 

[Enter Howard, ceiitre.] 

Howard. Well, you two are almost inseparable. You fairly 
rival Ned Barron and myself in intimacy. Oh, Annie, what 
a bright and beautiful day this is. It does seem as if it were 
made to honor the happiest hours of our life. 

Mary. I guess I'll go into the parlor ; I seem to be in the 
way. Good -by. [Exit, left. 

Annie. Poor Mary ! Yes, Howard, your happiness is mine, 
and it would be to me a perfect day were not its beauty 
marred by one unpleasant thought. 

Howard. Pray, what sorrow can my Annie have on her wed- 
ding day ? 

Annie. I will tell you, for there should be no secrets be- 
tween you and I now. Before I am your wife, I wish to tell 
you freely what is now uppermost in my mind. 

Howard. I am all ears. 

Annie. Mary Dobbs has just confided to me that she is 
hopelessly in love with your friend Ned Barron. 

Howard. Ned ! But why is it hopeless ? He has not lost 
his heart yet. 

Annie. Ah ! you do not know ; for worse is to come. A 



THE MAKTNER's RETURN. 

week before you asked me to become your wife, I had a Sim- 
ilar offer from a man whom I considered only a friend. I told 
him that my love belonged to another. He left me, resigned 
though not content. I pitied him more because he was your 
friend Ned Barron. 

Howard. Has he dared to offer his hand to you? He knew 
of my love. Is it possible he can be so mean a friend ? "Why 
did he not tell me of this ? 

Annie. Gently, Howard. Had he not as much right to seek 
my love as you ? and would he not endeavor to conceal a 
hopeless passion ? Be charitable, Howard. 

Howard. Yes, you are right. I am hasty. This is truly 
enough to make you sad. What can we do? 

Annie. I will tell you what to do. The friendship between 
yourself and Ned Barron places you in a position to approach 
him on the subject. 

Howard. Yes. 

Annie. Now, promise me this — that you will see Ned and 
try to persuade him to forget his love for me, and think of 
Mary, who, I am sure, would die for his sake. 

Howard. Indeed I will, as soon as I can. My hasty speech 
is forgotten, and I shall think only of Ned's welfare. Poor fel- 
low, how he must feel ! [Ente?' Josiah, c. d.] Hello, Josiah, 
all ready for the ceremony ? 

Josiah. Ay ! ay ! my hearty, all taut. 

Annie. I am glad to see you, Uncle Jose ; you don't get up 
this way very often. 

Josiah. Well, I hain't much on gettin' round, fer a fac'. 
Shiver my timbers, ye look as pretty as a pictur', Miss Annie. 
Be my Mary up here ? 

Annie.' Yes, she is in the front room. 

Josiah. How be ye, Howard, my hearty ? 

Howard. Oh, I'm smothered with joy. 

Annie. You are pretty lively for a smothered man. 

Josiah. He ! he ! to be sure. What a spanking big chap ye 
air, now. Why, I remember when ye wa'n't nuthin' but a leetle 
cabin-boy, aboard the Sea-Gull. 

Howard. And I have good cause to remember you then. 

Josiah. Them wus happy days fer me Them's the times I 
went aloft and furled a sail as lively as ye can. But I'm old 
an' condemned now, and can't even keep a stiff^ keel in a light 
wind. 

Annie. You are pretty smart for a man of your age, though. 

Josiah. Meybe I am, but nuthin' ter what I used ter be. 

Howard. Indeed, you're not ! I can see now your muscular 
form, on a stormy night, braced like a rock against the wheel, 
holding the lives of all on board in your hands, and bringing 
us out of danger, safe and sound, when no other man could do 
it. 



THE mariner's RETURN. 7 

JosiAH. Yes, T was a purty good hand at the wheel, ter be 
sure ; but then I was born on the water, an' I hope, when okl 
Davy says ter come, I'll go by a wet way, an' lay my old bones 
on the bottom of the sea I love so well. 

Howard. I hope that won't be soon. And can I ever forget 
that winter night ? 

JosiAH. Ah, my hearty, will ye never tire of tellin' that 
yarn ? 

Annie, Do tell me about it, Howard. 

Howard. I will, and don't you interrupt me, Josiah. 

JosiAH. Well, I won't, but tell it kinder easy. 

Howard. It was a cold, dark night, and Josiah and I were 
standing under the lee of the after-cabin. Suddenly the ship 
gave a lurch, and the huge main boom swung toward us. 
Josiah saw it coming, and stooped in time, but it struck me 
square in the shoulders and in a moment I was overboard. Be- 
ing unable to swim, I was sinking, when a strong hand grasped 
my collar, and the deep voice of Josiah bade me have cour- 
age. For full fifteen minutes he kept both heads above water. 
The cold was intense, and I could feel that the brave man's ef- 
forts were becoming more feeble. But in response to Josiah's 
cry of "man overboard," the ship hove to and lowered a boat. 
After a long search they came upon us, when it seemed as if 
we must surely go under. 

Josiah. 'Twas mighty cold that night, ter be sure. 

Howard. Cold ! Your hair and beard were covered with ice 
when we got on board. I was a boy then, a man now, yet I 
feel as if I owed my manhood to this old man. Annie, you will 
share in my respect for him. 

Annie. Indeed, I will. 

Josiah. Lord bless yer purty face, miss. It wa'n't nothin' 
but my love fer the boy ! I — I — well — blast my toplights — ye 
make the tears come. Josiah Dobbs snifflin' ! This beats me. 
I hain't nuthin' on fine speeches, but I love ye, miss, as I do the 
boy. You're a good friend ter my darter, and I — I — what, more 
salt-water ! Shiver my timbers, I hain't dropped so many teal's 
fer a long spell. 

Howard. You're a brave man, Josiah, and only brave men 
shed tears from the heart. 

Josiah. That's enough, boy — now, no more. Jes' come out 
here, Miss Annie, I wan' ter show ye suffin'. Mary and I hev 
fixed up a leetle wedding present fer ye. Bight out here. 
Shiver my timbers, I hain't felt so happy fer many a day. 

Annie. Oh, do let me see it. Now, Howard, don't forget 
your promise, and take the first oi3portunity to fulfil it. 

\Exit Josiah and Annie, c. d. 

Howard. That I will. Poor Ned ! My first thought was a 
malicious one, but that is past, and I am all sympathy. How 
he must sufier, to see the object of his love married to another, 



8 THE MAEINER S RETURN. 

and that other his best friend. I now see why he had an en- 
gagement which would keep him from my wedding. I wish 
he were here. [Enter Ned. c. d.] " And pat, he comes." Why, 
Ned, I didn't expect to see yon here to-day. 

Ned. I know, Howard, but I didn't feel just right about 
treating you so. Howard, old boy, I congratulate you on the 
partner you have won. I — I — hope you'll be very happy — 
and Annie — may she — I trust — God bless her. 

Howard. Thanks, my old friend. Ned, I know it all. 

Ned. What ! you know of my hopeless love ? And you will 
gloat in your triumph — will laugh at my misery ? 

Howard. Laugh at your misery ! Why, Ned, can you be- 
lieve me so base a friend ? No ! I pity you from the bottom of 
my heart, and it shall be I to show you a possible escape. 

Ned. An escape ! By what means ? 

Howard. Yes, forsake this unhappy love ; seek another one 
who will return your love. Is there no other whom you think 
might love you ? 

Ned. No — no — there is none, and if there were, her virtues 
could not compare with those of your Annie. No, Howard, 
when I see you married and my last hope gone, I will leave 
this place, no longer a pleasant home to me, never to return. 

Howard. Not so. There is one who possesses all the virtue 
and grace of Annie, who would die to gain your love. 

Ned. Who might that be ? 

Howard. Pretty Mary Dobbs. 

Ned. What ! Mary — Mary Dobbs. No — no — you are mis^ 
taken. 

Howard. She told my Annie those very words not half an 
hour ago. 

Ned. Is it possible ? This is news. It sheds a ray of sun- 
shine over my night. Let me think about it, Howard. It may 
perhaps influence my decision. 

Howard. Brave Ned ! I know you will be happy in the end. 
{Looks at watch.) But the time is near, and I am wanted. I 
shall not ask you to be present, for I don't think it best. For 
a time, good-by. Believe in my love for you. [Exit, left. 

Ned. Yes, I do believe in your love, but I can never love 
you as I did. You are the innocent cause of the curse of my 
life. Oh ! the pain, the misery of a passion that can never be 
realized. Can it be true that Mary bears a love for me ? If 
so, then it must be like mine, a love that hates itself. Then 
there is a bond of sympathy between us. Mary is fair and 
good. Perhaps — but no, my heart revolts at loving her. At 
the feet of Annie, the dearest, greatest passion of my life is 
laid. No other love can turn the tide. Ere long she will be 
Howard's wife, and my last hope gone. The last hope — no — 
perhaps Howard — may die, perhaps — oh ! God remove that 
fearful thought before it takes root in my heart. No ! I can 



THE MARINERS RETURN. 9 

only find relief in flight. This very night I'll leave my home 
forever. (Sits on chair, burys head in hands.) 

[Enter Erastus, tragically, c.d.] 

Erastus. Ha ! am cley all fled from de approach ob de Bloody 
Vampire ? No matter. I will search dem out, were da at de 
bottom ob de bottomless pit. Oh ! I'se tough, I is. I was 
born an' brought up in a tough town. When I opens my mouf, 
let de world tremble. {Sees Ned.) Dere's Massa Ned. Jes' 
de pusson I wan' ter see. Massa Ned, cap'n wished me ter 
present dis order to yer. ( Gives letter ) 

Ned. Oh! Thanks, 'Eastus. What can it be? {Opens 
letter.) I hope — (Reads.) Thank Heaven. I am to report on 
board the- Eire-Fly at once, as she sails in an hour. And 
Howard, he will have to go too. His joy will be short-lived. 
Why does that thought please me ? I cannot help it. Fare- 
well to my youthful dreams. Farewell to everything that I 
hold dear. [Exit, c. d. 

Eras. Gone ! left without a word ter cheer my lonely heart. 
But I will be revenged. I'se on yer track ; beware, beware ob 
Ho'se-fly Pete. [Enter Tilly, Icft.l Ha ! she comes, der white 
lily ob de blue noses. Fair statuette, I salute you. 

Tilly (aside). Why, dar's 'Eastus. Ain't I glad he's come. 
Mister Hardhead, why do yer press yer contentions upon me ? 
I can nebber become yours. I is too high in social persition 
ter hab anything ter do wid yer — a ship's cook. 

Eras. Wha — dis ter me. I who hab sacrificed ebery thing 
ter persess yer. Tilly, does yer mean it ? 

Tilly. I does. You is beneaf me, an' I'se not going ter 
stoop so low. 

Eras. Oh ! dis am too much. I will go. Der high Muck- 
er-Muck ob de Tuskeroaras despises yer. Heah am de one 
token ob yer false confection. {Throws a bandanna at her.) 
Take it, and nebbermoah tink ob Erastus Hardhead. 

[Exit, c. D. 

Tilly. 'Eastus, 'Eastus, doan' go. Come back, I'se fooling 
wid yer. Oh ! he am gone. [Picks up handkerchief.) An' dis 
am all he hab lef me. I'se jes' gwine ter cry. ( Weeps.) 

[Enter Captain Law^rence, right.'] 

Captain. Why, Tilly, mv lass, what might be the matter wid 
ye? 

Tilly. Oh ! massa, I'se-a-jes' be'n-n-n gone-n done it. 'Eas- 
tus {sobs) hab gone-n-way m-m-mad, an-an-he sa-says, I 
a-ain't goin ter see-ee him n-no m-moah. Wha-what's I gwine 
(sobs) ter do ? 

Capt. Well, well, that's too bad. What have ye done, 
Tilly, to make him mad. I thought ye were the best of 
friends. 



10 THE MAEINEK's KETUBN. 

Tilly. I — I — jes' g-got so s-stiick up wiih my n-new things, 
I — I — jes d-doan' care {sobs), I'se g-gwine t-ter take emr-riglife 
off. 

Gapt. Now, my little gal, don't take on so. I'll see 'Eastus 
myself, and fix it all right. 'Rastus thinks a mighty sight of 
ye. 

Tilly. Does yer tink so ? An' will yer see him ? I'll be jes' 
de gladest gal dat ebber libed. 

Capt. Yes. But wipe away yer tears, and run and fix the 
eatables, for my daughter is now married an' the party is 
coming. 

Tilly. All right, massa ; doan' f orgit 'Eastus. [Exit, right. 

Capt. The words have ben said which makes my Annie a 
wife. I am now the father of as fine a lad as was ever reared 
in this town. I s'pose I should be gay. But somehow I can't 
feel that I've got a daughter any more. Here they come. 
Don't they look handsome ! [Enter Howaed, Annie, Maey, and 
JosiAH, 16/1.1 Here ye are. The banquet is spread, an' we're 
all ready for ye. 

JosiAH. Shiver my timbers, cap'in, ye should be a happy 
man, with such a manly fellow fer a son, and a darter that the 
biggest man in the land might be proud of. I congratulate 
yer, cap'in. Here's my flipper. {They shake hands.) 

Howard. I hope to j)rove a worthy son to you, my new 
father. 

Capt. Yes, my boy, I know you will. 

Maey. And let me say my word, too. To you, Annie, my 
dearest friend, I wish much joy, and may the same love which 
has blessed your friends brighten the life of your husband. 

Annie. Thank you, Mary. I hope to show in my new life, the 
good times and the bad times to come, that I wish to be 
worthy your regard. But come, the dinner which my kind 
father has' prepared is waiting for us. 

JosiAH. Blast my toplights, I do feel an emptiness in my 
bread-basket. 

Capt. This way, my friends. 

[Exit right, all hut Howaed and Annie. 

Annie. One minute, Howard. I saw Ned going down the 
hill. Did you see him ? 

Howaed, Yes, I saw him here. He came to wish me happi- 
ness. I told him all. I think I raised a spark of hope in his 
breast. He said he would try to think of Mary's love. 

Annie. Oh ! I am so glad. It lifts a great weight from my 
heart. Let us go. [Exit right. 

[Enter Erastus, cautiously, c. d.] 

Eeastus. Not-er-soul in. I hab bust de chains ob captivity 
an' roam on dis earth a free man. An' she, on whom I hab spent 
many a bit fo' caramels an' chocolate, hab steeled her heart 



THE mariner's RETURN. 11 

against my irrespectable contractiveness. She who hab swap- 
ped kisses with me frew de ba'n-ya'd fence. But I'se gwine 
ter be revenged. Nuffin but bl-lood will satisfy my thirst fer 
soda-water. Heah, in dis house, will I confornt her, an' demand 
an explanation, an' de return ob dat fifteen cents she borrowed 
ob me. I hab los* all faith in women. " I hate de world — I 
hate myself." 

[Enter Captain, right] 

Captain. Why, what ails ye ? You're stampin' round here like 
a wild colt. 

Eras. Yes, sah, yes, sah, I'se jes' soliquifing — dat's all. 

Capt. You're jest the man I want to see. Now, my Tilly, 
here, wants to get married mighty bad, an' I've jest set my 
eyes on you as about the right man to look after her. 

Eras. No, sah ! dat can nebber be. She hab conjected my 
suite. No, sah, I scorn yer perposal. 

Capt. Hold on, 'Rastus. I know all about it. She feels 
pretty sorry for treating ye so. She told me so herself a short 
spell ago. 

Eras. No, yer doan' say so. Does yer know, cap'in, I'se jes' 
berginnin' ter tink dat dat Tilly ob yours am de spunkiest gal 
I'se seen fer some time. Jes' say a good word fer me, an' by 
de tin horn ob der Majestic Seven, I'll stick ter yer like a 
porous plaster. 

Capt. That I will, 'Rastus, and I'll fix it up right off. Wait 
here, an' I'll send her in. [Exit, right. 

Eras. Is I awake, or ineberated ? Am dis a yaller gal I scq 
befo' me, her lips beneaf my own. Come, let me hug de. I 
hug de not, an' yet I swar I saw de as plain as dis bright nig- 
gar comin' dar. 

[Enter Tilly, right.] 

Tilly. 'Rastus, can ye forgib me ? 

Eras. Forgib yer ! De Roaring Ripper ob de Home Base- 
ball Club am heah at yer feet. Oh ! I cannot cringe too low, 
or strike too high, ter aspres my humbility fer you, fair gal. 
Yes, Tilly, my heart am big as de whale's, an it am busting wid 
lub fer you. Can yer not see by de awful rollin' ob my bres' an' 
de heaving ob my eye-balls, dat consistance without yer would 
be wus dan life widout watermelon ? Heah^me, fair being, as I 
lay my offering ob lub at yer feet. {Takes off shoe, and lays at 
Tilly's feet.) 

Tilly. 'Rastus, does I heah de truf ? 

Eras. Yer does. I lub yer better dan dat fifteen cents yer 
owe me. 

Tilly. 'Rastus. How dar yer refer ter dat loan ? If yer lub 
ain't wuf fifteen cents, I doan' want it. I will sen' yer a check 
fer de amount. Farewell, yer hab los' me forebber. 

[Exit, haughtily, right. 



12 THE MAEINEK's EETURN. 

Eeas. Erastus Hardhead, yer am a fool. I hab don' wid all 
lub. No moah am I ter sit in sequestered solitude on a bag 
ob potatoes, when de heabin' billows make heabin's in my 
stomach, an dream ob lub in a garret. No moah shall de siz- 
zling of de cap'in's steak remine me ob de kisses I hab swap- 
ped wid her. Heah, by dis shoe, dis tiny shoe, I swar it. 

[Enter Annie, Howaed, Captain Laweence, Josiah, Maey, all 
laughing. HowAED and Maey go toe. of stage ; Captain, Josiah 
and Maey, ?/p right ; Eeastus, l.] 

Howaed. This is, indeed, the happiest day of my life, cap- 
tain ; I'll try to be a good husband and one worthy of your 
respect. We'll be together for a whole week now, my darling. 
Captain Reed, of the Fire-Ely, told me yesterday that he did 
not think he would be able to set sail for at least a week. 

Joshua. Captain Eeed is a good sailor, but I don't like him 
as a man. 

Captain. Me neither, Josiah. 

HowAED. Hello, 'Eastus, you up here. How is everything 
aboard ship ? 

Eeas. All right, sah. I 'most clean forgot. Heah am a 
'pistle from de cap'in. {Gives letter.) I wish you lots of joy, 
sir. \Exit, c. d. 

Howaed {opens letter and reads). An order. My God! 
The Eire-Fly sails in half an hour, and I am to report at 
once. 

Annie. What is the matter ? You look pale. 

HowAED. Read that, and you will know the cause. {Annie 
reads letter aloud. ) ' ' Howard Lee : You will report at once for 
duty, as we shall set sail at 4.30 this afternoon. Signed, Cap- 
tain Eeed." 

Annie. Howard, is this true ? 

HowAED. Yes, it is true, and I must go indeed. And to 
think that I must part with you, perhaps forever, when I have 
just obtained the right to call you my wife. My courage 
almost fails me. 

Annie. But must you go ? 

How^AED. Annie, I am an honorable man, and Captain Reed 
holds a contract, signed by me, for two years. I am bound by 
a State and moral law to respond to that order. 

Capt. Just about what you'd expect from such a man as 
Captain Reed. 

Josiah. Yes, — that's so ; but you must do your duty, my 
boy. 

Annie. Yes, Howard, you must do your duty. 

Maey. Perhaps there's some mistake, and you may not have 
to sail. 

Annie. That's true. God bless you, Mary, for that thought. 
{To HowAED.) Quick — go — there may be some mistake. 
(HowAED shakes hands with all characters quickly. ) 



THE mariner's RETURN. 13 

Howard. Yes, there may be some mistake. I'll run fast as 
the wind, and hope — yes, hope. But should I have to sail — 
good-by, my darling, good-by {Kissing her.) May heaven 
bless you and keep you safe till I return. 

[Exit, CD., quickly. 

Annie [runyiing to c. d.). Gone ! gone ! Perhaps for- 
ever. God protect him. {Falls against o. door.) 

Curtain. 



14: THE mariner's RETURN. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. More cosily furnished. Tilly dis- 

coveredi dusting. 

Tilly. Dese am strange times. Ever since Massa Lee lef 
lis on missus' wedding day, we ain't heard nuffin from him. 
Mos' folks say he am dead, but missus' doan' seem to take it 
quite right. It am now two years since he went away. Massa 
Barron hab cum bac', dey say. And den dar's 'Eastus. He 
ain't been ter sea since he got lef when de Fire-Fly sailed. It 
does seem as if we nebber would git square, though I is dref- 
fuUy fon' of 'Eastus. But he am so funny. He am always 
gettin' off sumfin about de 

Erastus {outside). Villian, I'll tar delim' from lim'. {Enter, 
c. D.] Whar am de blushing rose ob de desert? dis fair Tilly, 
de idol ob my heart. 

Tilly. 'Eastus, am it yer melonious voice dat speaks dese 
words ? 

Eras. Ha ! am you heah ? You who hab caused my pants to 
grow baggy wid kneeling at yer feet ? Away ! hens from dis 
roost forebber. 

Tilly. 'Eastus, will you nebber be seasonable ? ( Weeps.) 

Eras. No ! I is not to be salted by yer unkind dispersition. 
Go ! ere dese lily-white ban's am stained wid de blood ob yer 
ancendents. 

Tilly. Oh ! 'Eastus, would ye kill me ? 

Eras. Ya-as, I hab decided ter hab nuffin more ter do wid 
yer, cans' dat las' pair ob pants I bought on your account ain't 
ben paid fer yet. Besides, you is passay. Passay am French — 
which means you is gone before. {Haughtily.) I hab con- 
cluded to iine annudder girl. 

Tilly. Oh ! 'Eastus, doan' talk so. I'se drefful sorry, I is, 
an-an 

Eras, {sighs, aside). I mus' preserve my dignerty at all costs. 

Tilly. I didn't mean nuffin — I didn't, honest — an' if ye'll 
forgib me, I'll be jes' as good — as good 

Eras, {aside). Can't stan' much ob dis, {To Tilly.) Well. 

Tilly {coyly). An' I is quite sure, 'Eastus, dat dey ain't 
anyone in dis yar town dat lubs you as much as I do. 



THE MAEINER's RETURN. 15 

Eras, {aside). I'se a goner, sure. {To Tilly.) Tilly, does 
yer mean it ? 

Tilly. I does, 'Kastus. 

Eras. Den I forgib yer. 

Tilly [falling into his arms). Oh, 'Rastus. 

Eras. Gib us a kiss, Tilly. {Kisses her.) Um — um. 

Tilly. Ain't dis nice, 'Rastus ? 

Eras. Ya-as, you bet. 

Tilly. Oh, I is so happy. Say, 'Rastus, doan' yer tink dat we 
had better git married ? 

Eras. Yes, p'raps we had. I'll ponder on it an' let yer 
know. 

Tilly. Dat's right, 'Rastus. And we'll hab such a swell 
weddin'. An' we'll invite Sally Nott, an' Topsy Tuff, Ger- 
mimie Snowball, an' Uncle Daniel, an' de res', an' I'll wear my 
new yeller ribbons de missus gib me las' week, an' yer kin 
wear yer new pants, an — an — an' we'll hab lots er fun. 

Eras. Yes, I s'pose we will. Say, Tilly, doan' yer s'pose 
ver could let me have dat fifteen cents I loaned yer a year ago 
las' March ? 

Tilly {drawing away). Erastus Hardhead ! I hab paid yer 
dat loan moah dan fifteen times ober. How dare you ask fer 
it agin ? 

Eras. Miss Tilly, yer hab nebber cancelled dat debt, an' 
befoah any further presperations can be made for our marriage, 
I mus' deman' its settlement. 

Tilly. Mr. Hardhead, yoah conduct is unbeseemin' ob a 
gentleman. You is no gentleman. 

Eras. Ha ! do you charactercize me as no gentleman ? 

Tilly. I repeat, sali ! you is no gentleman. 

Eras, [tearing round stage). Ha! ha! ha! Dis ter me. Oh! 
oh ! oh ! Miss Tilly, I advise you to leab my presence befo'e 
I git mad, for I is fas' conin' to dat point where I git real mad. 

Tilly. Oh ! yer nigger, yer ; does yer s'pose I'se afraid ob 
yer? 

Eras. Ha! away, away. [Tears round.) Dis am ter much. 
I hab los' all control ob myself. Whar is I? Who is I ? 
Whar's my razor? Gi' me sunthin' ter hit wid. [Grabs 
chair and swings it round. ) Whew ! I wants blood, I wants 
water, I wants blood and water, blood and water, blue blood. 
Whoo ! gi' me more blue water, blue water, water, wa-wa- 
watermelons. Boo-boo-boo. [Tears round more.) 

Tilly. Golly, he's gone mad, suah. \Exit, right. 

Eras. Whew! [Grins., hugs himself.) If dat ain't jes' bully. 
Dat's what yer call actin', dat is. Oh, I'se a lulu, I is. I hab 
at las' reached de goal ob my ambition. I hab studied fo' three 
long years, and I feel that I is now competent to take up de 
stage as a perfession. I tell yer what, dat was great, dat mad 
scene. He ! he ! he ! I mus' place dat in my cuspidwar 



16 THE mariner's RETURN. 

Farewell to all my maskermonial dreams. I wish I had dafc 
fifteen cents to start on, doah. Let's see — what is dat Mister 
Shakespeare says about de little wanton flies getting stuck on 
a sea ol* summer molasses ? It's like dis. "We start 

[JEwzter Captain, le/L] 

Captain. Hi ! ye rascal. What ye doin' here ? 

Eras. I — I — yes, sah ! you see, I jes' thought I'd step in 
lieah an' see if Miss Tilly was performin' her duties as she'd 
oughter. 

Capt. Well, why ain't ye to work ? 

Eras, {vociferously dusting). I is, sah. 

Capt. Well, git out. 

Eras. Yes, sah — yes, sah. \Exit^ right. 

Capt. 'Rastus is a good cook, but he's eternally up to some 
of his nonsense. Oh, dear, will trouble never cease ? My 
creditor has just informed me that the mortgage is due next 
week, and if I don't i^ay, the house must go. I'm afraid I 
must lose the old home, for I don't jest see where I can get 
the money to pay him. I have borrowed so much of Cousin 
Josiah that I don't dare ask for more. That's trouble enough 
for an old man like me. And my Annie ! [Enter Annie, c. d.] 
Well, Annie, my child, how are ye to-day ? 

Annie. Why, father, I am in perfect health. Why do you ask 
that question so often ? 

Capt. Well, my little lass, ye see I know jest how you must 
feel about Howard. I know ye try to be gay an' cheerful, but 
ye can't help a sorrowful look about your mouth,, or always 
iiold back the tears that are overflowing from your heart. 

Annie. Yes, father, you are right. Try as I will to crush my 
sorrow, it will find a way of escape in some unguarded moment. 
I have heretofore lived in the hope that Howard would some 
day return. But I have given that up, for I can scarcely doubt 
Ned Barron's story on his return last week. 

Capt. Yes, yes. My daughter, we can no longer hope. 

Annie. But he died bravely, and I am proud of it. 

Capt. Indeed, he did. An' Ned, he seems to feel mighty 
bad over Howard's death. I guess he's had a hard life of it 
since he left here two years ago. It's said he has made quite 
a fortune in his wanderings. 

Annie. Yes, and I understand he is to invest it in building 
a new mill near where the old one was burned two years ago. 

Capt. That's so ! Smart lad, he. Now, Annie, I've got 
something to say to ye. 

Annie, What is it, father ? 

Capt. Ye know my business hain't been very rushing since 
they set up the new hotel, an' I have been sliding back for 
some time. A while ago, though I didn't say anything to ye, 
I mortgaged the inn, and it's nigh time it was paid — in fact, it 



THE MARINER S RETURN. 17 

is due next week. I don't know just how I am going to pay it, 
Annie. 

Annie. Oh, father, why did you not tell me of this ? "What 
shall we do ? 

Capt. I thought ye had trouble enough without being wor- 
ried with money matters. Where the money is to come from 
I don't know, an' I fear we shall have to give up the old 
home. 

Annie. No I no ! not that. Give up this home, where I was 
born, where every remembrance of a loving mother, now dead, 
lingers. Oh ! father, there must be some help for it. 

Capt. Poor little wife ! God knows, Annie, I would fight 
for the home till the last breath, but my creditor is a hard 
man, an' he won't budge an inch. 

Annie. Does he insist ? 

Capt. He does. He says it must be paid. 

Annie. Who is this man, this heartless man ; tell me his 
name, and I will confront him and see if a woman's tears can 
soften his heart. 

Capt. It would be useless, my daughter. I can see but one 
possible escape, an' ye would have to be the means. 

Annie. Tell me what it is, father, that I may do it at once. 

Capt. Ye may not like it, but it's the only way. I kinder 
suspect that young Barron hasn't forgot his early love for ye, 
an' I shouldn't be surprised if ye heard from him to that effect. 

Annie. Father, do you think that I can forget 

Capt. No, no, Annie, but remember your home and your old 
father. Ned has a clean record, an' I know when he hears of 
our trouble he will gladly help us out. 

Annie. "But it would not be right, for I do not love him. 

Capt. Ah ! yes, my lass, but you could soon learn to, for I 
am sure Ned is handsome and clever. 

Annie. I scarcely know what to think or say. This is so 
sudden ; but give me time, let me think. It would be so 
strange, so — but I will leave you now, and, be assured, I shall 
do what is best in the matter. \Exit, left. 

Capt. Yes, I know ye will ; heaven bless ye. [Enter Josiah, 
CD.] Hello, Jose, you up here. 

Josiah. Hello, cap'in. Shiver my timbers, it do take hold 
of my legs comin"' up thet hill. I hain't so smart as I was, 
since the rumatiz struck me below decks. How are ye, my 
hearty ? 

Capt. Oh, as well as ye could expect. I am right sorry to 
see ye taken down in your old age. Ye ought to stay in-doors 
more. 

Josiah. I s'pose I hed, but I mus' be around a seein' ther 
world, ter be contented. 

Capt. Ye're ever the same jolly tar. How is Mary gettin' 
on nowadays? 



18 THE mariner's RETURN. 

JosiAH. Happy as a clam. She's a-goin' ter travel wi' thet 
husband of hers, Goin' abroad, she says. 

Capt. No, ye don't say so. Well, well ! Right smart chap, 
that son-in-law of yours. But jest wait here a minute, an' I'll 
open a bottle of ale with ye. [Exit, left. 

JosiAH. Don't care ef I do, thankee. Well, Josiah Dobbs, ye 
hev seen queer changes aroun' this old town in the last two 
years. Since that chap who be now my son-in-law discovered 
iron under my old shanty, I've jest bin rollin' in wealth. An' 
my darter, who was a-pinin' away fer that sailor-lad, feels con- 
tented and happy as the wife of that city chap. Ain't she han- 
sum in her fine fixin's ! But I'm livin' too high, I am. Shiver 
my timbers, I must let up, or I shan't live to a green old age. 

[Enie?^ Erastus. Claps Josiah on the shoulder.] 

Erastus. You is my prisoner. 

Josiah. Blast my toplights, if I be. (Strikes Erastcs, who 
falls on the floor.) Take that, my hearty. 

Eras. Fo' de Lor's sake, what a muscle you hab got. ( Gets 
up.) 

Josiah. Muscle ! I'll muscle ye. Strike an old man as has 
ther rewmatiz, would ye? Get out, ye black rascal. (Chases 
Erastus round the stage. Erastus jumps through the window. 
Sound of breaking glass. Much effect could he added to this hy 
having someone behind the scenes to imitate the sound of hens 
scattering.) Ha ! ha ! I hain't forgot how to use my flipper yet, 
my hearty. [Enter TrLLT.] Hello, Tilly, I jes' see yer chum 
a-goin' out thet window. I kinder guess he's gone through the 
hen-house, by the sound of things. I guess he's pretty nigh 
dead by this time. 

TiLiiY. Does yer mean 'Rastus? 

Josiah. Ya-as. He came foolin' round with my rewmatiz, 
which is more than I can stan', I kin jes' tell ye. 

TiiiLT. Oh, Massa Dobbs, yer didn't kill 'Rastus, did yer ? 

Josiah. Well, I kinder reckon he's gone to his last roost. 
Jest cast yer weather eye out thet winder. 

TiLiiY {gobig to ivindowj. Oh, lor' ! Jes' ' see my 'Rastus. 
De hens is all flyin' roun' him, and he's all cut up, an' his 
bes' pants is torn, an' — an' — oh, what'll I do, Massa Dobbs ? 

Josiah. Wall, I shed think ye'd better go down an' bring 
him up on deck. 

TuajY. Yes, sah, I guess I had better. [Exit, c. d. 

Josiah. Blast my toplights, I hope the coon ain't hurt 
much. 

[Enter Annie, left.] 

Annie. Vm glad to see you, uncle. Father wants you to go 
out on the porch to open that ale with him. 
Josiah. Ay, ay, my lass thet I will, thet I will. [Exit, left. 



THE mariner's RETURN. 19 

Annie. Oh ! why shonld I give this subject a moment's 
thought ! Yet I cannot drive it from my mind. The love I 
bore for Howard I can never gixe to another. Still, is it just 
to myself to bu]*y my affections in his grave ? Would not God 
be better pleased if I laid my grief beneath the wave with 
Howard. And is it not my duty to make Ned happy ? I see 
he has not forgotten his love for me. In time I may be con- 
tent myself. But my father, this home — no ! that is a mer- 
cenary thought. Yet though I respect Ned, I cannot give him 
a wife's love. Still, I can respect no one more than he, nor 
can I love anyone else. But I cannot bring myself to bestow- 
ing my hand where my heart is not. I must think more of this 
before I reach any decision. [Exit, left. 

[Enter Tilly, c. t>., followed hy Erastus, completely demoralized. \ 

Tilly. Oh ! 'Eastus. How is you? 
Erastus. Am dat old duffer gone ? 
Tilly. Yes, he has. 
Eras. Tilly, I is dyin'. 
Tilly. Doan' talk so, 'Rastus. 

Eras. Yes, I'se a gone coon. Jes' see dis. (^Reels.) 
Tilly. Oh, doan' do so. Come right out inter de kitchen 
while I stick yer together. [Exit^ left. 

[Enter Ned, centi-e.] 

Ned. Nobody here ! They must be somewhere round. 
Things look about the same as they did when I left two years 
ago. Annie, I am sure, is as pretty as ever. [Enter Annie, c d., 
head down in thought.] Ah ! Miss Annie, good afternoon. 

Annie. Ah! {Starting.) What — Ned — Mr. Barron, you 
here ? 

Ned. It is verily I, Miss Annie. Did I startle you ? 

Annie. Yes, I was just thinking of you, and — and 

Ned. I understand you — of Howard. 

Annie. Yes. Forgive me for speaking of him at this time. 

Ned. Most certainly. My own heart thoroughly sympa- 
thizes with your sorrow. 

Annie. Thank you. I am glad to see you back again, Mr. 
Barron. 

Ned. I am pleased to hear you say that. I am certainly 
glad to get back. 

Annie. Your life and experiences have been varied since you 
left here, have they not ? 

Ned. Yes, since Howard's death on ship-board, my advent- 
ures have been both numerous and exciting. Poor Howard, 
he was my best friend. I mourn his loss sincerely. But it is 
the inevitable. We do not understand, but we can have faith 
that it is for the best. 

Annds. Yes, yes. Mr. BaiTon, will you again relate to me 



20 THE maeinek's ketdrn. 

* 

the circumstances of my husband's death. If you will, I prom- 
ise the subject shall never be mentioned again. 

Ned. I will, though it pains me. About three weeks after 
Howard and I set sail in the Fire-Ply, we encountered a terrific 
gale somewhere off the Canaries. For three days and three 
nights the storm raged without a lull. During all that time 
no one dared to sleep. And Howard ! He seemed to be the 
very life and courage of us all. When we lost heart, it was his 
cheerfulness which roused our drooping spirits. When we 
ceased to have faith, it was his brave voice, raised in prayer, 
that recalled our trust in a higher power. Our danger was in- 
deed imminent, for we expected every moment that the strain- 
ing ship would spring a leak. On the third night — shall I ever 
forget it ? — the mainsail broke from its fastenings, and shook 
violently in the wind, greatly endangering the safety of the 
ship. In vain the captain ordered the mainmast hands aloft, in 
vain he threatened . None dared to make the attempt. How- 
ard stood near, and, seeing the danger, without a moment's 
thought went aloft and lashed the sail. He must have been 
completely exhausted by his labors, for in returning he sud- 
denly lost his hold and fell. In his descent his head struck a 
flying block, an'd he reached the deck dying. 

Annie. How fearful ! 

Ned. With a cry, I rushed to his side and bent over him. 
He retained just life enough to whisper, "Ned, for the love 

you professed to beai- my wife, protect her — and — and " He 

could say no more, for he was dead. Over his body there I reg- 
istered a silent vow that his Annie should never want while I 
had a hand to prevent it. Such was his death ! The storm 
passed next day, and we buried him beneath the sea that had 
taken his life. 

Annie. Bless you for your love to my husband. But why 
did I not receive news of his death ? 

Ned. a short time after, the Fire-Fly was wrecked, and all 
on board, save I, were lost. 

Annie. That was indeed a fatal voyage. And yourself ? 

Ned. My own adventures since then are uninteresting, 
though various. I was left in a foreign land destitute. How- 
ever, by dint of hard work I have amassed a considerable fort- 
une, and return to my native land with wealth enough at my 
command to fulfil my vow. 

Annie. And is it true, Mr. Barron, that you propose to erect 
a new mill on the site of the old Shafdale Mills which were 
burned last year ? 

Ned. Yes, I am convinced that the scheme would be a pay- 
ing one, and I believe there is a still larger amount of iron to 
be found in this neighborhood. By the way, Josiah Dobbs 
has struck a rich vein on his little farm hasn't he ? 

Annie. Yes, indeed, and he is very wealthy now. Mr. Torry, 



THE mariner's RETURN. 21 

the young city contractor, who discovered the vein, seems to 
be a very bright business man, for he is making a good share 
of the profits on the vein. I suppose you know that he married 
Mary Dobbs ? 

Ned. Yes, so I am informed. A very good match it is, too. 

Annie. Yes, but I fear Mary will forget me in her exalted 
station. 

Ned. Possibly. But might not yours be as exalted as hers ? 

Annie. What do you mean, Mr. Barron ? 

Ned. I mean this, Annie ; that my chief pleasure in bringing 
back the fortune I have accumulated lies in the fact that with 
it I am able to fulfil the vow I made over the body of your 
husband, and I came here to-day to speak especially of a sub- 
ject which lies uppermost in my heart. May I speak frankly ? 
Will you hear me to the end ? 

Annie. Yes, yes. 

Ned. Judge of my motives as your heart truly dictates, and I 
will be satisfied. 

Annie. I will. 

Ned. When I left Shafdale so suddenly with Howard, two 
years ago, I thought I should be able to crush out the love I 
bore you. I thought that in the change of scene, the excite- 
ment of another life, I could forget it. But, alas ! it was too 
deep to be uprooted. Your sweet face has never been away 
from me, nor has my love for you grown cold. I think if How- 
ard could have finished his dying words, he would have said, 
*' and if you still love her, make her your wife." And here, 
Annie, with a clear conscience, believing that Howard approves 
of my course, I again lay my heart before you. With all the 
sincerity and fervor of my youth, I again ask you to become my 
wife. 

Annie. Ned, this is not 

Ned, Do not turn away again, Annie. You are now free, free 
to make me the happiest of men. 

Annie. But I cannot give you my love, though I do respect 
you. 

Ned. Your respect is all I ask. Surely, Annie, if anyone can 
make you happy, it is the friend and companion of your hus- 
band. [Takes her hand.) Annie, do not send me away again. 

Annie. My heart is really touched by your pleading, Ned. 
If, understanding that my love is dead, you will accept my 
deepest respect, I will be 

Ned. My wife. 

Annie. Yes. 

Ned [kissing her). At last you are mine. 

Curtain. 



22 THE mabinek's return. 



ACT III. 

SCENE. — Room in the house of Ned Baeeon ; cosily and hand- 
somely furnished. Window, left. Entrance, c. d. and 
right. Table, centre, with books and footstool before it. 
Large arm-chair, l. c. Ned discovered, reading newspaper. 

Ned [reading). " First Annual Report of the Shafdale 
Iron Mills : Assets, eight hundred and fifty thousand, four 
hundred dollars. Liabilities, two hundred thousand and six 
hundred and fifty dollars. Cash capital, four hundred thou- 
sand dollars." Well, well, I am a lucky man. Half owner in 
the Shafdale Mills, with an income of no less than twenty 
thousand dollars, I have a comfortable home, and a dutiful 
wife to make that home a blessing. I should be happy with 
all this. But the means I have practised to win that wife 
darkens the sunshine of my life. In the rush and worry of bus- 
iness, I thought to blot out all remembrances of my past life, 
and live only for the future. But in my dreams that past pre- 
sents its wrongs in fearful reality. Strive as I will to shut it 
out, I cannot dispel its ghostly shadow. The wicked must in- 
deed suffer in this world. I sacrificed everything, I let noth- 
ing stand in my way to secure a wife. But, now that she be- 
longs to me, I sometimes feel as if I'd give my life to recall — 
no, no, not even to myself must I confess the crime. The 
world believes me honest, and for myself — well — the past is 
past — so let it rest. [Enter Annie.] Ah, my little wife, is my 
lunch ready ? 

Annie. Yes, I have come to call you. 

Ned. I have just been looking over the annual report of the 
mills. It makes a splendid showing, and I am now a wealthy 
man. 

Annie. I am very proud of your success in business, Ned, 
but I do wish you would pay the mill hands the higher wages 
they have asked. 

Ned. But, my dear wife, we pay them as much as any other 
mill now. What more can they ask ? 

Annie. I know, Ned, But it seems to me that as you have 
made so much money you could afford to give a little of it to 
them. Tbey certainly need it more than we do. 

Ned. Oh, well, it's business, you know. 



THE MARIN'EK's RETURN. 23 

Annie. I suppose it is ; but I really don't like that sort of 
business that grinds the poor man under foot that we may be 
raised a stejD higher in the world. 

Ned. Don't you, my dear ? I admire you for befriending the 
mill people, but I'm afraid I can't follow your suggestions, for, 
you see, I've agreed with the other mills to pay a certain price 
for labor and I must abide by the agreement. 

Annie. Neither do I like that — the combination of wealth and 
capital to take away the laborer's rights. I should just like to 
run your mill for awhile. 

Ned. Would you, my dear ? I am very much afraid you 
would run it into the ground. But as it is a matter of business, 
which I could not make you understand, suppose we drop the 
subject ? 

Annie. Very well. {Pause.) Ned, my husband, why do you 
look so serious of late ? 

Ned. Do I look serious ? Oh, I suppose it is because I think 
seriously. 

Annie. I have noticed it especially. You seem nervous, and 
sometimes even fretful. And at night you frequently start and 
moan, oh, so piteously, that I am really getting quite alarmed. 

Ned. Is it possible ? I can't imagine what the cause, unless 
it be the cares of business. 

Annie. It scarcely seems to be that. Ned, have I your con- 
fidence ? Is there not something you are concealing from 
me? 

Ned. Why, what put that into your head, my dear? Of 
course not. I am as open as the sunshine with you. 

Annie. Perhaps it is only my foolish fears, after all. 

Ned. I am sure it is. Annie, did you know that this is the 
anniversary of the day on which you promised to be my wife ? 
{Taking he?' hands.) 

Annie. Why, yes. 

Ned. Have you any cause to regret the day ? 

Annie. Why, no, not for a minute. 

Ned. You remember you told me then that you could not 
givfe me your love. Can you say more now ? 

Annie. I must tell you now, as I did then, that the first pas- 
sionate love of my life is dead, and it can never be revived. I 
respect you as I do no other man, and I am happy because you 
love me. 

Ned {sighs). That is all I can ask. [Enter Howard at 
door, centre.] And are you happy and contented ? 

Annie. Yes, I live but for you now. 

Ned. Bless you, Annie. {Kisses he?'.) 

Howard. My God ! It is true. [Exit. 

Ned. We had better get our lunch now, for I must hurry 
back to business. 

Annie. I fear, Ned, that you work too hard. 



2^ THE MABINEB'S BETUBN. 

Ned. Perhaps I do, font some day I will give it up, and then 
"we will travel and see the world. Good-by. [Exit, right. 

Annie. Good-by. I may well be happy with such a loving 
husband. [Enter Maby, centre.] Why, Mary Dobbs, when did 
you return ? {Kisses her. ) 

Maby. Scarcely an hour ago, and, of course, I must come at 
once to you. 

Annie. I am so glad to see you. It's 'most a year since you 
went abroad. 

Maby. Yes, just after your marriage. How are you, my 
friend — well and happy ? 

Annie. Yes, indeed, I am. But tell me how you enjoyed 
your trip. Tell me of the things you saw, of everything. 

Maby. Oh, it was just too lovely for anything. Carl was so 
good to me, and we saw so many people and places that I have 
no end of things to tell you. 

Annie. Yes. 

Maby. First we went to London, and, would you believe it, I 
was actually introduced to the Queen ! 

Annie. Were you really ? 

Maby. Yes. You see Carl had a letter of introduction to 
some lord over there who has a long name — I forget what it 
is — and he moved in the highest society, and he introduced us 
to lots of dukes and duchesses, and finally to the Queen her- 
self. 

Annie. How splendid ! 

Maby. Oh, we made quite a stir. Carl said I behaved ex- 
cellently, considering my inexperience. Oh, it was just lovely ! 

Annie. It must have been. I suppose you went to see West- 
minster, and the Tower, and all those famous old places. 

Maby. Oh, dear me, no. We had so many balls and recep- 
tions to attend, that we didn't have a minute to look around ; 
besides, I don't think I should care much about poking about 
in those dark old places. 

Annie. I am sure I should like that best of all. But where 
did you next go ? 

Maby. Well, you know, we went over to Paris, and of all the 
gay times I ever had, it was there. Oh, those Frenchmen are 
an awful giddy people. 

Annie. So I have heard. I don't suppose you really enjoyed 
yourself there, did you ? 

Maby. Oh, but I did, though. Theatres, operas, and every- 
thing — until I declare I was all tired out when Carl got ready 
to start for Kome. Oh, it was so — so—" bon." That's French, 
and means "good." . 

Annie. Did you go to Rome ? What a treat. How I should 
enjoy it. 

Maby. Yes, we went to Rome, to Florence, and everywhere. 
I couldn't begin to tell you all about it now. 



THE mariner's eeturn. 25 

Annie. Well, yon will, sometime, won't you ? I should so 
like to hear about the great art-galleries there and about the 
ruins, 

Mary. Well, I don't know much about the art-galleries, and 
the only ruins I saw was the ruins of my new cream silk dress 
{laughs) on which a silly young count, who was trying to flirt 
with me, spilled a dish of ices. But how much Shafdale has 
changed during my absence ! 

Annie. Yes, it has, wonderfully. It is growing every day. 

Mary. What a pleasant home you have. 

Annie. You may well say that, for Ned is a model provider. 

Mary. Indeed ! By the tvay, who was that strange-looking 
sailor-fellow I saw leaving your door ? 

Annie. A sailor ! Why, I haven't the least idea, unless it is 
some of the mill-hands. 

Mary. I shouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't eyed me as 
though he had seen me before. Annie, I cannot tell you how 
sorry I was to hear of your father's death. 

Annie. I knew you would be, my dear ; he died a short 
time after you left here. But how changed you are, Mary. 

Mary. Am I '? Yes, I suppose society life has polished me 
up a trifle. 

Annie. You don't seem to be as frank and innocent as you 
used to be. 

Mary. It's all seeing the world, my dear Annie. 

\^Enter Ned, left.l 

Annie. Oh, Ned, here's Mary returned from Europe. 

Ned, Ah ! how do you do, Mrs. — Mrs. 

Mary. Torry. 

Ned. Mrs. Torry. I am glad to see you back in Shafdale 
again. 

Mary. Thank you. I am sure I find it much more of a 
place than I had any idea it would ever become. 

Ned. Yes, the iron still holds out, and the place prospers. 
Is your husband going into business here again ? 

Mary. Yes, he is to take charge of the vein on the old farm 
again. 

Ned. Ah ! what a place for ore that is. You were about to 
leave the room. Don't let me detain you. 

Annie. I was showing Mary about the house. This way, 
please. 

Mary. Good afternoon, Mr. Barron. 

Ned. Good afternoon. [Exit Annie and Mary.] My old 
love ! Humph ! inuch love she ever bore me ; that is, real 
love. {Looks at watch.) Goodness, this will never do. I must 
hurry down to the mill. I hav€ an engagement at three, and 
hero it is five minutes af tei*. 



26 THE maeinek's eetuen. 

[E7lte7* JOSIAH, C. D.] 

JosiAH. Hello, my hearty, I was jes' lookin' fer ye. I'm sorry 
fer ye, my lad, but the mill-hands hev struck. 

Ned. "What ! What's that you say ? 

JosiAH. The mill-hands hev struck. 

Ned. Who says they have ? 

JosiAH. Shiver my timbers ! I was a-comin' up ther hill, and 
they come a-tarrin' out and a-howlin' and a-hootin' fer higher 
wages. 

Ned. I feared this would come. I must go down at once. 

JosiAH. Take my advice, an' don't yer go. They'll take yer 
life, fer half on 'em are armed, and there's blood in their eyes. 

Ned. No matter, it is my duty to go, and I will not shirk it. 
If my wife asks for me, tell her I will be back soon. 

[Exit, c. D. 

JosiAH. I'm afraid the boy'll git hurt ef he hain't careful. 
He's hot-headed, an' it won't take much ter rile them fellers. 
I hope his wife won't hear of it, fer it 'ud be kinder ticklish 
fer me ter pacify her. Oh, Lord, here she comes now, lookin' 
pale an' scared. [Eyitei- Annie, c. d.] Good-day to ye, my 
lass. 

Annie. Oh, Uncle Jose, what is the matter with Ned ? He 
looked so pale and excited as he went out the door. What 
has happened ? 

JosiAH. Oh, there now, my lass, don't yer take on so. It's 
all right. Its only the mill-hands what hev struck, an' he's 
jest gone down to kinder quiet them. Don't look so scared, 
'cause it's all right, it's all ri^ht. 

Annie. But I fear his temper will lead him into some dan- 
ger. 

JosiAH. Don't yer think so, my dear. He'll keep jest as cool 
as a cucumber. (Aside.) Whew, what a lie ! 

Annie. But if anything should happen ? 

JosiAH. Well, Annie, my lass, ef ye'd feel any better fer it, 
I'll jes' run down an' look around, an' perhaps I kin help a bit. 
But don't yer worry, fer it'll be all right. [Exii, c. d. 

Annie. I hope so ; but I fear, for Ned has been anxious and 
worried, and the strikers are a rough set and would not hesi- 
tate to do an act of violence. This is the result of low wages. 
Heaven i)rotect him. I could not bear a second loss. 

[Exit, right. 
[Enter Howard, ce?2^re.] 

Howard. And this is what I return to find. Betrayed by 
my friend, forgotten by my wife, and they happy as man and 
wife. God forgive me if my thoughts become uncharitable. 
Oh I false friend, you little thought, as you saw me sink be- 
neath the w^ave, that I miglit some day rise again. But God 
was good and &ayed me from that death, and I am here for re- 



THE mariner's RETURN. 27 

tribution. I will confront Mm and demand that he release my 
Annie from her vows to him. I will force him on his knees to 
— but stay ! She is hajDpy in his love and no longer thinks of 
me. I heard it from her lips. Shall I cause her pain ? No, 
rather would I die than have her suffer. Oh, cruel fate ! Yes — 
I must leave this place, and they must never know the truth. 
Annie, I hope you will enjoy a long and happy life — and Ned, 
the Great Judge deal with you as He thinks best. To my 
very life, farewell. [Exit, o. D. 

[Enter Tillt, left. Sings.'] 

Tilly. Oh, dear, I is so happy. 'Rastus has been so good 
ter me lately. He ain't said nuffin about dat fifteen cents fo* 
a long time, an' he gib me some caramels de odder day, an' he 
doan' seem to pay no 'tention ter Sally Snowball any moah. I 
did t'ink at one time dat 'Rastus was kinder parcel to Sally. 
De idea of dat gal tryin* ter shine up ter my 'Rastus when dis 
chicken am aroun'. I'd jes' like to see her do it ag'in. I'm 
jes' goin' ter wear my new bres'pin dat 'Rastus gib me las' 
week, down ter Dinah More's party, so'st Sally kin see it. 
Won't she be evenous. Golly, how nice 'Rastus does look in 
his new pants. I doan' care if I do say it, 'Rastus is jes' de 
handsomest colored gemmen I ebber saw, an' I jes' like him, I 
do, an' I jes' lub him, I do, an' — an' — if he'd just say de word 
I'd marry him quicker'n a wink. Ah ! I wonder whar he am 
now? Lookin' after his watermelons, I s'pose. I'se a good 
mine ter go out an' see. I guess I will. {Goes toicard door, 
centre. Collides with Erastus, who enters balancing a huge water- 
melon over his head.) (Should a watermelon not be obtainable a 
huge pie will answer every purpose, with the lines altered by the 
actors.) 

Tilly. Oh! 

Erastus. Ho, dar. Look out de way, Tilly. I'se a-comin', I 
is. I'se de Lord High Watermelon Raiser, I is. Look at dat, 
Tilly, ain't it a daisy ? Dat's de first ob de season. Raised her 
myself. 

Tilly. Oh, 'Rastus, ain't dat lubly ! 

Eras. Well, I jes' guess it am. Dis am de one I christened 
Queen Victory, 'cause it wus so fat. How'd yer like ter hab 
some, Tilly? 

Tilly. Oh, wouldn't I, 'Rastus ! Is yer goin' ter eat it now ? 

Eras. I is, an' vou kin hab some ob it, on one condition. 

Tilly. What's dat? 

Eras. Dat you will gib me one sweet kiss from dose straw- 
berry lips. 

Tilly. Oh, 'Rastus, I — I— dat ain't fair. 

Eras. Kiss or no watermelon, which am it ? 

Tilly. If you will do it real easy, I done no as I would mine 
it much. 



28 THE mariner's return. 

Eras. Course yon won't. [Puts down watermelon. Opens 
his arms.) Tilly ! [HtuliY falls into Ms arms; kisses her.) 
Tilly [releasing herself) . Dar now. 

Eras. Um-m. Now, Tilly, if you'll jes' run out an' git a big 
dish an' de carvin' knife we'll proceed ter reduce de surplus on 
Queen Victory. 

Tilly. Yes, 'Rastus, I will. [ Exit, left. 

Eras. By gum, dat was nice. [Takes watermelon, comes 
down front, and sits in chair.) Yes, I has jes' about made Tip 
my mine ter settle down an' ask Tilly ter marry me. I'se 
concluded dat I doan' wan' ter go on ter de stage, 'cause when 
we got up dem private theatricals, down ter the town-hall, I for- 
got my pa't, an' I couldn't say nuffin. I dassent try it again, 
so I guess I'll do de next bes' t'ing, an' git married. Ha ! 
[Hugs waie7^melon, lays head on top, and sings dreamily, drum' 
ming accompaniment with fingers — tune,. " Golden Slippers.^^) 
Oh, dose watermelons, oh, dose watermelons, 
Watermelons I'se gwine ter eat 
When I clime de golden stair. 
Oh dose watermelons, oh, dose watermelons, 
Water, wa-wa-watermels. 
So Juicy an' so sweet. 
Dum, dum, tweedle-de-e-de-dum. Bum, bah! 

[EnterHTULY, l., with large pan and carving-knife.'] 

Tilly. Heah dey is, 'Bastus. 

Eras. Hah ! dat's de talk. Jes' pull dat chair up heah, an' 
we will commence de osperations. 

Tilly. Yes, 'Bastus. [Draws chair up.) Dar. 

Eras. Now jes' put de pan between us — so — and de water- 
melon in it — so — an' one, two, three, le's begin. (Cuts melon.) 
Ah ! Tilly, jes' look at dat. Ain't it red. De Queen am a 
good one. Dar, dar's a slice fo' you. 

Tilly. Oh ! 'Bastus, ain't dat fine. 

Eras. You jes' bet it am. Now, le's see how I'se goin' ter git 
one out fo' mesef. Dar — so. [Cuts. Both eat. Pause.) 

Eras. Um-um, dat's de bes' melon I ebber eat — fac'. 

Tilly. Yes, indeed, it am. [Both eat again.) 

Eras. Dar, dat's gone. [Lays rind on table.) 

Tilly. An' so am dat. [Also lays rind on table.) 

Eras. Hab annudder, Tilly ? 

Tilly. Yes, 'Bastns. ( Both eat.) Say, 'Bastus, you — yon 
is different from what you used to be. 

Eras, {mouth fall). Yes, so I is. 

Tilly [eating). You isn't so funny as you was. 

Eras. No, I hab decided dat I can't do de funny business 
wuth a cent. 

Tilly. Oh! 'Bastus, hab you? an' ain't yer goin' ter rollyer 
eyes any moah? 



THE mariner's RETURN. 29 

Eras. No, sah, 'cept wlien I look at dose auburn lips ob 
yours. 

TrLLY. An' you won't git mad any moah ? 

Eras. No'm. 

Tilly {coyly). Say, 'Eastus, does yer know dat— dat I t'ink 
dat you is — you is awful nice ? 

Eras, {dropping watermelon). Tilly, does yer mean it ? 

Tilly. Yes, 'Eastus, I does. 

Eras. Den, Tilly, heali me as I — as I — {7"!ses, takes pan, and 
sets it on chair behind him) — as I kneel — [kneels) at yoali feet. 
Tilly, I is clean gone on yer. I'se all busted up ober yer. I 
doan' wan' ter say nuflQn, nor do nuffin, an' — an'— say, Tilly, 
will yer marry me ? 

Tilly. Git up. Erastus, dar ! 'Eastus, I is yours fo' better 
an' fo' worse. {Falls into his arms.) 

Eras. Hah ! lioo ! um-um ! 

\Entei' Annie, right.] 

Annie. Tilly ! Erastus ! (Erastus sits back in the pan, and 
Tilly busys herself ivith the fu7'niture.) I am surprised, Tilly, 
to see such actions in this part of the house. {Sees watermel- 
on. ) "What is this ? Watermelon in the parlor ? 

Tilly. Yes'm, yes'm. You see, 'Eastus, he — he 

Annie. Whatever you have been doing with them, this is 
not the proper place for such things. Eemove them at once, 
'Eastus. 

Eras. Yes'm, yes'm. ( Gathers rinds, footstool, tidies, and 
books, dumps them into pan, and, balancing latter on his fingers^ 
sails out, centre.) 

Annie. Tilly, I ought to scold you thoroughly for this. Just 
see, my table-cover is ruined by that melon. 

TiLiiY. Oh, missus, I is drefful sorry, but 'Eastus wus so 
nice, an' he — he asked me to many him, an' — I forgot all about 
where I was. 

Annie. Did you, Tilly ? Well, under the circumstances I am 
not disi)osed to be severe with you, but don't let it occur 
again. 

Tilly. Oh, t'ank you, missus, an' you won't scole 'Eastus. 

Annie. No. 

Tilly. Oh, Tsa a glad chile, I is. [Exit, singing. 

Annie. How happy she is. I wish that I were so. What 
is this oppressive feeling which has settled over me since 
scarcely half an hour ago? It seems to tell me that something 
strange, something unusual, is about to happen. What it is I 
cannot tell. I wish Ned would return, to relieve my anxiety. 
Ah ! {Noise of fighting in distance.) What was that ? It sounds 
like the cries of angry men. ( Goes to window, l.) Yes, it is so. 
There are the strikers, waving their arms and shouting like 
mad. {JPistol-shot heard.) A pistol-shot. Yes, and there is 



30 THE mabiner's eetuen. 

another. I do not see my husband. He may he in danger. 
I will go to him at once. [Exit, r. 

[Enter Ned, c, hatless and coailess, supported hy Zo^i^tl.] 

JosiAH. There, there, my lad, be quiet. The lubbers haven't 
hurt ye much, I guess. 

Ned. Yes, the villains have done for me. 

JosiAH. Here, my lad, jest git inter this chair. {Ned drops 
into easy chair, l. c.) 

Ned. Call my wife. Annie, where are — come — quick. God 
let me live awhile. 

[Enter Annie, right.'] 

Annie. Ned, my husband — are you hurt ? Oh, Josiah, how 
did it happen ? 

Josiah. It's sad work, my dear. The lubbers shot him. 

Ned. Annie, I have but a little time to live, I am bleeding 
to death. 

Annie. Oh ! don't speak so. Be quiet, for heaven's sake. 
Josiah, send for the doctor at once. 

Josiah. Yes'm, that I will. [Exit, c. d. 

Ned. It will be useless. It is well that I should die. 'Tis 
God's justice. 

Annie. What do you mean ? 

Ned. Annie, before I leave this world, I have a confession 
to make to you. Let me rest — so — 'tis easier. 

Annie. Don't leave me so, Ned — ^you are very dear to me — 
my husband — I cannot lose you, for I shall be alone. 

Ned. You will be happier when rid of such as I — but time is 
precious, and words must not be wasted. 

Annie. Ned, you are in great pain ; don't speak. 

Ned. I must — listen ! One year ago I told you of the death 
of your husband, Howard Lee. Oh ! my head. 

Annie. Here — let me bind it with my handkerchief — there. 

Ned. Thank you, dear. Annie, that story was a fearful lie. 

Annie. Ned! what! you are not speaking the truth, you are 
delirious. 

Ned. Alas ! it is true — before heaven. 

Annie. Then Howard lives. 

Ned. Would it were true. No ! Annie, the worst is to come. 
Howard Lee is dead, but his death was not as I described it. 

Annie. What can you mean ? Quick — tell me the whole truth. 

Ned. Be silent, and I will. Howard and I left this shore in 
the same ship, he happy in your love, and I with disappoint- 
ment weighing heavy on my heart. I bore for him, instead of 
my former love, a secret, irresistible hate — ah ! there — it's 
gone. One night, one stormy night, we sat upon the watch 
together. He rose a minute and stood upon the keel of the 
bowsprit, and looked off toward his home, with a smile of 



THE mariner's RETURN. 31 

happiness upon his face. Then came that fearful temptation. 
The fiend of hate possessed my soul, mj blood leaped, a dul- 
ness overcame my brain. I moved forward as if impelled by 
some devilish instinct — and in another instant Howard was 
struggling in the waves. 
Annie. Merciful heavens ! you murdered him, 

[Enter Howard, c. d.] 

Ned. Yes ! yes, 'tis true. I am his murderer. The ship 
passed on and none ever guessed the true cause of his death. 
Never have I forgotten his last look as he was lost to sight in 
the darkness. Such despair — God — look — there it is now. 
See, Annie, see, there is his face — that same reproachful look 
— take it away — out of my sight — 'tis fearful. Howard — come 
— come — come back — here, my hand, ah ! Annie, hold me — I 
am fainting. 

Annie. How terribly I have been deceived. 

Ned. Yes, you have. Yet I did it all for love of you. 

Annie. A fatal love it was, indeed ! 

Ned. Annie — don't think too hard of me — for you — for your 
love I have sacrificed everything. Annie — love — wife, can you 
forgive me ? 

Annie. Forgive you 

Ned. I am dying — forgive — or it will be too late. 

Annie. Yes — I forgive you. 

Ned. Bless you — could Howard but be here to join with 
you. 

Howard {coming down). He is here ! and he forgives you, 
as God is his judge. 

Annie. Howard alive — no ! no ! I must be dreaming. 

Howard. Yes ! I am Howard Lee. 

Annie. Then, heaven be praised. 

Ned. Oh ! fate, do not deceive me. Are you in truth alive ? 

Howard. In truth ! As God's justice brought you to death, 
so his providence spared my life. A passing vessel picked me 
up, completely exhausted, after I had kept afloat for hours. 

Ned. Then a happier death is mine. Howard— Annie — here 
— quick — kneel beside me. 

Howard. He is going fast. (They kneel, one on each side.) 

Ned. Join your hands— so. May your lives be happy — think 
no more of me — bless you — ah !— death— some— water — no — 
no— still — keep still. It's growing dark — and close. Annie, 
your hand— there. I cannot breathe. Howard, be good— to 
my — Annie — good-by. {Dies.) 

Curtain. 




«■»<»'• (LAn LMT**) Dwostmn 



PROSOENIUM. 

A teoit eff»eUT« ProiMniiim «ut W fo r — i liy 
atillslng tht pav«r mad* for thifl pmi^MC Thfw 
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paper ; the protoenium harins the appeaimtM el 
Uffht hlue puffed latin paneUf ia fu4 
with Shakeapeare medallioB in the eeslvab 

Poffed eatin paper, giie 16 fmekee by tO 
per iheeti 26ote. 

Imitation Gold Borderiaff, par ikM^ 26o. 
■akimg 14 feet 

Bhakeepeariao MedaUloa, It tmtm te * 
•meter, SOots. 



jD003^S*~'^*** MmpriM thrM 



«M»neS 






i?^iVr^ 






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either for drawinff>room or oottafe purpoeec 

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^WIlVDO'W.-TUi i« a pcurlowwtaii0w InraMi wilktwv 

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Fll^SPZa JlLOB.-I'ble is ale* made wlU tw« 
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yh^ tVsTa 



another, a rreat «iTaati«e la makiaf-ap. 

' arti«iM ►o V» hod separatdiy. •*• praoedlOff 




FK-IOE, XSots. EACH. 



nSTEW I^J^J^^^- 



Bitter Reckoniiig 

Eileen Oge 

Bathing 

An Old Score 

Mj Sister from iaiaia 

Maria Martin 

Among the Relics 

.Nabob for an Hour 

An Old Man 

Village Nightingale 

Onr Nelly 

Partners for Life 

Chopstick and Spikins 

Chiselling 

Birds in their Little Nests 

Pretty Predicam '^t 

Seven Sins 

Insured at Lloyd's 

Hand and Glove 

Keep Your Eye on Her 

J ssamy's Courtshij) 

False Alarm 

Up in the World 

Parted 

One in Hand, &c. 

LvL.t'« «.""ohine 

Who'Ui 2jsnd me a Wife 

Extremes Meet , 

Golden Plough 

Sweethearts 

Velvet and Eags 

Cut for Partner 

Love's Alarm 

An Appeal to the Feelings 

Tnle of a Comet 

Under jfaise Colors 

Heroes 

Philanthropy 

Little Vixens 

Telephone 

Too Late to Sava 

Just My Luck 

Grateful Father 

Happy Medium 

Sole Survivor 

Neck or Nothing 



Poppleton's Predicaments 

Auld Acquaintance 

Weeds 

White Pilgrim 

Dentist's Clerk 

Lancers 

Lucille 

Randall's Thumb 

Wicked World 

Two Orphans 

'Twixt Axe and Crown 

Wonderful Woman 

Curious Case 

Forty Winks 

Lady Clancarty 

Never Too Late, to Me&d 

Lily of France 

Led Astray. 25 cts. 

Henry V., new version 

Unequal Match 

May, or Dolly's Delusion 

Ap. Like as Two Peas 

Court Carofe 

Happy Lane. 

Ailatoona 

Encrh Arden 

Weak Woman 

How She Loves '^i.m 

Our Society 

Mother-in-Law 

Snowed In 

Terrible Tinker 

M,- TJncle'? Will 

Our i'riteCcl.R 

Queen of Heanc 

Lady of Lyons Married 

and L'sttled 
Bitter Cold 
Peacock's Holiday 
Daisy Fa^ai 
Wrinkles 
Lancashire Lass 
On artklsland 
Q. E. D. 

Withered Leaves 
Ruth's Romance 



Old Sailor 

Pampered MenifJs 

Noblesse Oblige 

^ad from the Country 

Kot False but Fickle 

Infatuation 

Davepport Bros. & Co. 

Freezing a Mother-in-Law 

That Dreadful Doctor 

Plot for Plot 

Our Relatives 

Engaged 

My Awlul Dad 

On Bail 

Tom Cobb 

Bow Bells 

Married for Money 

Funnibone's Fix 

Patter versus Clatter 

For her Child's SaJto 

Married in Haste 

Our Boys 

Which 

My Father's Will 

Daniel Sochat 

Cisaie 

JBCboflil 

Home 

David Garrick 

Ours 

Social Glass 

Daniel Druce 

Pinafore 

Old Soldier 

My Daughter's Dgbut 

Word of Honor 

Sold Again 

Guy Fawkes 

Little Madcap 

Handsome Jack 

Scarlet Dick 

Wedding March 

My Wife's Father'sSifitdT 

His Novice 

Much too Clever 

Hamlet Improved 



t 



ARTICLES, NEEDEL BY AMATEUES, 

Such, as Tableaux liights, -Magnesium Tableaux Xiights, Prepared BlVnt 
Cork, Grease, Paints. Ldghtning for PriV£ te Theatricals. 



Guide to Selecting Plays, Hints on Costcme, Scenery to fit any Stage- 

Jarley's Wax Works, Ethiopian Plays, Charades, Amateur's Guide, Guide to 

the Stage. ^ 

SAMUEI. JTRENCH &^ SCN, 

LIBRARY OF CONGRES 




017 401 586 7 



